


Mud Bath

by winter_angst



Series: Journey to the Den [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Political Animals
Genre: Alternate Universe - Animals, Fluff, Implied Animal Deaths, M/M, but for food, somewhat graphic description, spotted hyenas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22670926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: It's not easy for two spotted hyenas to raise a cub without a clan, but Jack and Brock manage the best they can with TJ.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Series: Journey to the Den [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1630927
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Mud Bath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Steve-Bucky-Stucky (Chemical30)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chemical30/gifts), [Kalika999 (kalika_999)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts).



> TJ was created by the wonderful Steve-Bucky-Stucky so all credit for his cuteness goes to her :D

“I can help,” TJ insisted as Brock lifted by his scruff from the rock he had scrambled onto. 

“Help by keeping downwind,” Brock said, words muffled by the cub currently swinging from his muzzle. “We’ll be right back.”

Jack dug a small burrow under a large rock and Brock gingerly set the cub down at the entrance. TJ got to his feet shaking off his fur in offense. “I always gotta stay behind,” he pawed some scraggly grass in the unturned soil. “It’s no fair! I’m real good at huntin’, ‘member you said?”

Brock and Jack exchanged looks before Brock dropped his head no nudge TJ toward the makeshift den. The cub squeaked in disagreement. 

“You’re a good hunter but we’re not hunting,” Jack tried stepping up beside Brock. “There might still be cheetahs around and they’re a whole lot faster than us, right?”

TJ’s little round ears pinned against his head and he bore his tiny teeth with a noble effort toward a growl. “I’ll fight them!”

“I know you will.” Jack gave him a gentle prod with his nose. “Those poor cheetahs wouldn’t stand a chance if we brought you and we don’t want to hurt anyone, right?”

The cub’s ears pricked, warm brown eyes glowing as he understood. “Oh! Okay, I understand.”

Brock knocked his shoulder against Jack appreciatively. When he was young hyena on his own he hadn’t ever thought about cubs, mostly because the scent of a female in a heat didn’t draw him like the others. So he had taken off on his own, the life of a scavenger and a loner — until he happened upon another male like him. Their bond formed quickly, trusting each other with their lives. He was increasingly thankful for him every day after and that feeling only grew when they happened upon the demolished den of a hyena and her cubs. They were all dead, save for one whose eyes and ears hadn’t opened. 

Brock felt drawn to that cub, despite how peculiar it was, and they made a den to care for the cub as their own. A female hyena had taken pity on them and allowed him to feed her cubs. In return Brock and Jack hunted for her. For the duration of about three weeks they shared a den. The female went by Natasha but they eventually found their own way. 

It was a life on the move. No clan the encountered greeted them with anything less than hostility. Brock and Jack both bore scars that reminded them exactly how others felt about their relationship. 

“Be good,” Brock reminded him as he watched TJ tugging himself inside the den, little tail wagging in effort before his face was just barely visible.

“I’ll be super good! Can you bring me back some cartilage please?”

“I’ll do my best.” Brock promised. He scented the air around them for any danger, always terrified about leaving the cub alone. They were the easiest prey on the savannah and every predator knew it. “Don’t move. Not until you smell us and hear us.”

“Promise!” 

Jack nudged him, a nonverbal ‘let’s go’ that Brock obeyed after touching noses briefly with TJ as a goodbye. Side by side they trotted off toward the smell of fresh blood. With the warm African sun warming their fur Brock felt in good spirits, bumping his head against his partner’s shoulder.

Jack turned his head with a fang filled smile and laugh. Their journey through the grassland here at the Savannah has been peppered with interactions with other predators. Other hyenas were least understanding of their clan, while other predators were more willing to tolerate their short stints in their territory. 

Brock scanned the skies for vultures while Jack kept lookout for wounded antelopes or wildebeests that had parted from their herd. They strayed from each other a bit, calling to each other occasionally to assure they weren’t too far apart should danger strike. The sun was starting to sink when Brock spotted a patrolling vulture circling a carcass. He was already salivating at the thought of the remains that awaited them. He called Jack who appeared beside him, eyes already glued on the scavenger above. 

No matter where they found themselves the vultures were all the same — bitter but usually unwilling to challenge them. They weren’t selfish — a carcass belonged to nobody and they weren’t the only ones looking for a bite especially in the dry season. 

“You wanna charge them?” Brock’s ears flicked toward the flock already picking at the remnants of a zebra. 

“Gladly.”

Jack surged forward, jaws gnashing and the vultures screeched furiously but obediently parted. They offered enough space to feed, occasionally another vulture would flutter down and join the beady eyed army watching them devour what remained. Skin, fur, bones didn’t matter. The only parts they couldn’t eat were the hooves, though Brock tore the front leg from the corpse, snarling at a vulture who tried to snag a tendon peeping out from under torn skin. 

Satisfied, they left the rest to the birds — and the jackals Brock could smell coming in from the west. As far as the hierarchy of predators went Brock wasn’t too concerned. 

TJ was where they left him though the moment he caught whiff of them, and the meal, he came running towards them. He tripped over his too big paws and tumbled along in the dry grass for a moment before he hopped right back up, shook the dust from his fur, and charged playfully towards Brock.

Brock dropped the leg and let himself flop to the side and tiny needle-like teeth dug into the thick fur of his maned shoulder. “You got me!” He cried and TJ jumped onto his side with a little growl of triumphant success.

“I’m really strong, aren't I?” He asked, tail wagging eagerly.

He pounced from Brock’s shoulder to his head, slipping off a bit but dragging himself back up. The sting of teeth digging into Brock’s ear was a pain easily dismissed as he rolled over and lipped at TJ’s side in a feeble attempt at fighting back.

Jack stretched, tongue rolling out from his bone crushing jaws. His muzzle was scared from the queen of his last clan. Sometimes Brock couldn’t help but lap at it despite knowing it was an old war scar, already healed over. They were both littered with proof of their struggle to survive. Scars from the horns of wildebeest, teeth of other hyenas and wild dogs, jagged scars from run ins with lions — they had left a life of a battling for the best to mere survival for the sake of their ward.

“Eat,” Jack laid down beside the little burrow he had dug. The fur about his jaws was stained with the blood of the kill. “It’s almost sun down.”

TJ paused tugging on Brock’s ear and went for the food instead, sniffling it curiously before his little teeth went to work. The satisfaction of providing for their cub warmed both hyena’s chest and Brock got to his paws, trotting to lay beside his mate. Jack rested his head on Brock’s shoulder and they both watched their little scavenger feast. 

•• •• •• ••

“You’re so slow,” TJ complained, hopping up onto a boulder and then back down. “D’ya think we could eat one of those?”

A hyena was never full, Brock’s grandmother used to tell him. The retired queen had spent more time with the cubs than their mother did, off hunting with the clan. Brock glanced at the giraffe herd ambling calmly on the savannah. 

“You just ate,” Jack tried.

“But giraffe is more nummy than boring old antelope,” TJ crouched down the grass, stalking the quiet rustle of a mouse. “Do you think we’ll ever get our own den?”

Brock did a systematic scenting before he carefully replied, “Well dens aren't exactly easy to make.” 

TJ whooped and pounced. Brock glimpsed a small mouse in his maw before it vanished. It was good to hear TJ finally making the proper sounds — for a long time he could only whimper in communication. A hyena’s whoop was almost as important as its laugh, after all. 

“If anyone can do it, you can.” TJ pranced ahead before circling back around with the energy only a cub could have. “Plus, don’cha get tired walking all days? Sometimes I just wanna chew my own paws off!”

“Well that would be a bad idea,” Jack said, giving him playfully nip to the hock. 

TJ bounded away with a cackle. 

“We follow the herds,” Brock said shortly. It was easier to leave it there than try and explain that it was too dangerous to leave him in a den while hunting and that lionesses had a particular taste of young hyenas. “Besides, don’t you like exploring Masai Mara?”

“Well yeah,” TJ drawled, plopping down unceremoniously. Brock scented the area before he lowered his body to the ground too. Jack’s sloping profile went on immediate patrol. “But remember when I played with the cheetah kits? I really miss ‘em! I want more friends.”

There was nothing Brock could say to counter that. He had grown up playing with cubs his age and so had Jack -- it was a necessary part of life and TJ was missing out on it. Like all things, TJ was distracted quickly but his words echoed in Brock’s mind. Settling down somewhere wasn’t a bad idea within itself, just establishing territory and defending it was what Brock’s hackles rising. They holed up at the base of a hollowed out tree, struck by lightning long ago. With their cub nestled snugly between their bodies, Brock watched the glimmering stars in the inky black expanse of the African sky. 

“A den,” he murmured when he was certain TJ was asleep. “Do you think we could manage that?”

Jack sighed quietly tucking his paws under his body a bit. “I guess we’ll have to, won’t we?”

“Guesso.” Brock’s rested his head on Jack’s shoulder, nose pressed against his fur. The familiar scent soothed his frayed nerves and he was able to drift off. 

They woke up in the morning to TJ wriggling free. Brock was content to snooze with his eyes half open while Jack got up and stretched his sloping frame. The sun was already high and hot. Brock had hopes for another carrion meal but as usual, he couldn’t be confident if they would happen upon something or be forced to actively seek it out like yesterday. Brock came out of his doze and watched Jack cleaning his fur as the air around his mate shimmered in heat. It was set to be one of those unbearably hot days and Brock was fantasizing about mud baths. Brock slowly to his feet, muscles bunching before he jumped at Jack with a whoop.

The two of them rolled a few times, Brock tugging playfully on Jack’s mane with muted growls. The two tusselled for a while, then rolled apart and panted to cool down. “So much for my bath,” Jack complained. 

Brock could feel the dust clinging to his fur but his mind was still on the mud bath. “It’s hot,” he complained, hoping to get Jack thinking along the same lines.

“It’s always hot,” Jack shook the loose dirt out of his mane and then sat down to lick his front legs all over again. “I hope you’re not thinking about finding a watering hole around here.” 

Brock both loved and hated that Jack could read his mind. “And why not?”

“Because everyone else will be thinking the same exact thing.” Jack was right of course but it didn’t stop Brock was whining sadly. “Why waste time fighting over a bit of water when we could be covering more ground toward the river for the Crossing?”

“What’s life without a little adventure?”

“One we survive.”

Brock heaved a sigh worthy of TJ who came trotting from around the tree, nose to the ground. “Ready to get going,” Jack turned his face in TJ’s direction.

The cub peeked up and flicked his ears a few times thoughtfully. “It’s hot.” he sat back on his haunches. “Can we find a mud bath?” 

Jack sighed. 

“I suppose so.”

**Author's Note:**

> I will post more drabbles in this AU about their journey to finding their home.


End file.
